Age of Revelations
by JFMK2
Summary: In the most optimistic visions of the galactic community, the post war era was supposed to be an age of reconciliations, rebuilding, and eventual prosperity. However, as a new series of revelations dawned, history took a much darker path.
1. Prologue

Bonjour, mes amis! Since I got a grand total of *two* good review for my last story, I have now begun my own series. This, clearly is just a prologue. Please RnR, but remember to that this is just a prologue.

Merci beaucoup!

(the funny words are in French, FYI)

War never changes.

Over time, even the most vicious battles are forgotten, and buried beneath the burdened pages of history, which even then are swept aside by the forward march of time. As great wars cease, are mended, and eventually laid to rest behind an evolving civilization, an even greater war rises up to take its place. Conflict after conflict: this is the one, the only constant pattern of society. With every passing era, and indeed every passing battle, civilization always develops a new way to defend against, locate, and destroy the enemy. However the brutal, primitive art form that was war was ultimately the same vicious orgy of destruction, only between different empires, and with even more barbaric weaponry. This was unalterable: neither the unpredictable progress of society, nor even the unhindered march of time could stop this one, this constant rule.

That was his opinion, at least.

An opinion that should be respected, however. He was a seasoned warrior after all. He was an heir to a proud warrior culture, and a family that for untold generations, had spent their blood and their kin in the name of the Sangheili Republic. Over time, this legacy became a saga, which had taken the form of a carefully spun, intricate battle poem, its silken threads knowing no ends. This carefully woven poem detailed the heroism, and the legends that his bloodline had witnessed, and fought for, and now fought against.

He had taken great care to not tarnish this honor. However, it may not prove to be enough.

For seven cycles, he had fought with honor against the humans, any enemy which had known and feared the merciless light of his sword. An enemy whose competence and sheer determination he knew just as well. Just as much, he lived and fought through the great deception and betrayal of the hierarchs. In a twist of events, had joined ranks with his former enemies, and his blade had shifted its merciless gaze towards the false-prophets, and the foolish barbarians that fancied themselves as their honor guards. The face of his enemy, whether it be human, brute, or even a member of his own noble species was inconsequential, as long as its destruction furthered his prosperity, and that of the Sangheili. He lacked the patriotic fervor and blind thirst for honor that had drawn most of his kin to battle, and inevitably to their graves.

What he lacked in honor, he made up for in discipline. He rose whenever he was called upon, and completed his orders to their extent. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. His comrades had called him a machine, which was a perfect metaphor. He was a keenly sharpened sword, however he was not the one to wield it. He killed with discipline, but without remorse or conviction. That was always why he fought, and why he will fight.

That too, however, was about to change.

His white armor glistened in the glorious light of the setting sun, known to his human allies as Farsight. From the belly of the human dropship, he could see the deep chasms cascading across the majestic, snowbound surface of the planet. The last stubborn rays of light danced across the planet's snowbound plains, as the untamed winds continually churned the glistening snow. However, these trivial details were at the back of the Sangheili's thoughts, behind the current mission. The Covenant loyalist stronghold rapidly came into view, which was barely holding together under a relentless barrage of human and Sangheili artillery. Even from a distance, he could clearly see the ripples and curtains of orange and blue explosions. As expected, the Covenant defenses were soon to fall. As the primitive, though sturdy craft neared the base, it effortlessly dodged torrent after torrent of anti-air plasma. Before they could become a problem of any sort, the circling Seraph and human fighters swooped down upon the anti air defenses. The craft closed in on the nearest entrance.

The Sangheili briefly congratulated the human pilot on a successful entrance, who then acknowledged it with a curt nod. He stepped into the troop bay, where the human shock troopers were wordlessly and efficiently readying their weapons, as were his Sangheili kin. The humans were no longer staring at him with looks of either hatred, or astonishment. The Sangheili no longer chattered amongst themselves of how they would leap upon the first chance to wring the Jiralhanae chieftain's neck, or how they would personally stab the prophet himself. Nor did they bet over who would get the most kills, and whose honor would shine the most. It relieved him to see that these "elite" soldiers had some semblance of discipline before the fight. He readied his own weaponry, reactivating his HUD and bringing his shielding to full power. One piece of his equipment that he dwelled upon in particular, was his energy sword. As Sangheili energy swords always were, his was a regal, masterpiece of art. It had burned through the flesh of his enemies before, and it will again. That he knew for sure.

There were, however, several things that he didn't.

He directed his attention forward once more, where his comrades were all fully equipped, and ready for the awaiting fight.

The ramp was lowered.


	2. Prologue Pt2

Prologue Pt2

This isn't the entirety of the Chapter! I just uploaded it for the sake of uploading it. I'm likely going to update later this afternoon, or at the latest, tomorrow. Anyhoo, the story will start out slowly, so I don't expect to get a bunch of awesome reviews.

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Every culture, every species has a different interpretation of warfare. He knew how the humans saw it, how the Lekgolo saw it, and regretfully, how the Jiralhanae saw it. To them, warfare ranged from a powerful tool to be seldom used, to a savage frenzy of the crudest barbarism. But for his species? No. For him, war was an art form, to be honed, practiced, and perfected, in its every facet. A timeless tradition.

And perfected it he had.

Amidst the staccato gunfire of his allies, and the crude volleys sent in return from his primitive enemies he fought. With a terrifying grace he slashed through his enemies, leaving a bloodied path of dark crimson through the various rooms. The way the corpses, hideously mutilated by the allied weaponry, always served as a horrifying testament to his skill. Indeed, his ferocity was so great that later, one of his Sangheili allies would comment that he was most reminiscent of the savage beasts in Sangheili folklore. Using the same grace that had carried him through war, he bore the mark of a master.

He quickly sidestepped a lunging Jiralhanae, and then impaled him on his glowing blade, which burned with ease through the weak armor. Like the rest, the wretched creature screamed, hissed and gurgled before he passed away. Seizing an opportunity, the Sangheili used the dead beast to protect him from an incoming volley of spikes, as the rolled to the left. He effortlessly parried another Jiralhanae, before slicing him across the stomach. Another brute came charging at him, screaming a senseless battle cry at the top of its lungs, spiker raised high in the air. As the spiker came bearing down upon him, he kicked it out of his hand with a swift kick to the arm. In a series of motions, to swift for a human to follow, he delivered a strong punch to his stomach, one more to his neck, and a right hook to the side of his head. The Sangheili scooped up the primitive rifle that his opponent had dropped, and sprayed the brute with a flurry of searing hot spikes. Under the barrage of sheer pain, the creature screamed, thrashed, until it was taken by a gruesome death. With no emotion, not even contempt he tossed aside the crude weapon.

A minor witnessed his brutal work, and nodded in appreciation. "These savages are far below an honorable death!" He practically spat. The white armored Sangheili simply shook his head and turned away. He didn't care for the revenge driven slaughter that his kin had relished in. Sure, they had "thoughtlessly massacred our kin with no regard for honor", but then, what did they have to explain for the humans? Not that he was a human sympathizer, no. Far from it, the world outside the battlefield did not make any sense. That's why he did all that he was good at: killing, and being told to kill. That way, things made sense.

That was going to change.

The Sangheili crouched behind cover, along with a major Sangheili. Without the constant danger of sword fighting grabbing his attention, he could perceive the sounds of battle quite clearly. The Jiralhanae were spraying long, inaccurate bursts of automatic fire into their enemies, while his allies made precise shots, efficiently gunning down the hordes of barbarians.

A few months ago, this battle would've been considerably harder. However, a few months ago was also before the battle of the Ark. The war wasn't over, that much was plainly obvious. However, he also knew how badly the Covenant had suffered after that battle. What had been a desperate race against a machination of doom had turned into a bold strike upon the Covenant leadership. Everywhere, he could see that the Covenant was beginning to topple. Their soldiers began to slip up, to make mistakes, both political and tactical. They were getting desperate, disorganized. That was something he could see in their eyes and their movements. They were alone on this mission: the leadership was far too eager to topple what remained of the Covenant. As a result, much of the special operations teams were spread throughout the galaxy, to perform precision strikes upon the Covenant leadership. This mission was one of them. He made note that to topple even a great empire; you needed precision, not brute force.

That knowledge would prove useful.

He slowly emerged from his hiding, and primed a plasma grenade. This action went unnoticed amongst the myriad of sounds permeating throughout the battlefield. With practiced accuracy, the grenade flew straight into a crowd of huddled Jiralhanae. The brilliant explosion of blue sent a searing wave of plasma through the air, killing half a dozen, and disorienting many more. The ultra elite leapt from behind his cover, and charged the Jiralhanae, blazing sword in hand. He leapt upon them, with unparalled ferocity. He sliced through three of them, all the while dodging spike rounds and flailing arms. He made his way to a fourth one, which raised its armor-clad arms in a pitiful gesture of defense. He thoughtlessly impaled the creature on his blazing sword, and sent its limp body to the ground. He turned around, just in time to see a single, staggering brute raise its spike rifle at him, a venomous glare in his eyes. One that no longer spoke of survival, or desperation, but of seething rage. Just then, a flurry of bullets, punctuated by a swarm of plasma bolts closing in on the lone Jiralhanae. As the searing projectiles tore through him, his armor was riddled with holes, blooded splattering against the wall behind him. His end was quick, but not painless. He slumped to the ground, spiker still raised, the glare never leaving his eyes.

He slowly turned around and saw his allies, Sangheili and human approaching him, at the front of the room. Their rifles were at the ready, scanning the walls and all the entrances. The sounds of battle had abruptly ceased, and were now replaced with the calm silence, and the occasional sound of a boot shifting. A gaping hole covered the ceiling, through which the golden light of the glorious sunset filtered through. Like his allies, the Sangheili quickly observed his surroundings. Bodies were strewn all throughout the room; the walls were covered in a gory, dark crimson. For all intents and purposes, it had been a battle, a mission with an objective. However, for anyone that had been in the battle, it was a complete and utter bloodbath.

As his allies slowly assembled around him, he began to issue his orders. His primary objective was to kill, and if possible, seize a certain prophet. Before the Great Schism, he was known as the Prophet of Piety, a councilor. His family, having noble acquaintance knew quite a bit about him, and the many deception and scandals he had pulled. Now, he had become a crafty, albeit desperate leader of a desperate people. He made good note to watch out for any tricks he might pull. Their secondary objectives were to kill a Brute Chieftain, and/or rescue a group of human hostages. The Covenant were likely to try and make their exit at this point, and thus the only logical maneuver was to split up.

"I will take my Sangheili Special Ops team, and eliminate the Prophet." He spoke in a confident, though gritty tone that spoke of years of experience. He shifted, and addressed the human "lieutenant". "You, you will take your team down that hallway, and locate the Brute Chieftain, and take your hostages. Rendezvous with us at the predetermined LZ for extraction within seven minutes." The humans wordlessly complied, and when he turned to address his Sangheili, they were already on their way.

"Let's go."

Once more, this is not all of the chapter! It's just to give you boys another taste of my writing.

Cheers!


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